Los Angeles
by kaatee
Summary: Set 5 years after the end of Eagle Strike, Sabina Pleasure is walking home from work one night when she encounters a vivid face from her past. A one-shot into the relationship between Alex Rider and Sabina. Rated due to mind sexual references.


**A/N: So yeah, this one-shot assumed that Sabina never returned at the end of _SnakeHead_; which in my opinion ruined what was left of the train-wreck of a novel. Told from Sabina's point of view, what happens one day, around five years after she left England.  
****I don't own _Alex_ _Rider_, I just like the relationship between Alex and Sabina so have decided to play with it. I'm sorry all my _Alex_ _Rider_ fics are romances, it's just what I prefer to write! I write for _Twilight_, what can I say? ;)**

The hospital doors hissed open automatically before me, sensing my presence. It was half-past-nine at night. I was glad. Today had been the day from hell – it'd be just my luck if the doors broke down on me and I got stuck here over night.

It was the type of night that everybody loved. The usual bright, clear LA sky was bleak and murky, and the temperature was cool, but the sun was shining fondly, showing no signs of setting anytime soon. I was used to the strange American weather by now. The sun didn't seem to set until gone half eleven on a night here. It was great but tedious at the same time. Where as I had the permanent tan look that the English would sell their grandparents for, I never got to experience the dark like I had back home. It was definitely the thing I missed most. My apartment, which I shared with two close friends, was fitted with long, cream, and incredibly thick curtains to make sure we could all get a decent nights sleep. I'd struggled horrendously in my first year here – it had been like insomnia.

I walked with purpose around the hospital car park, my heels clipping the concrete with gentle clicks. The hospital towered over me, its four floors reaching into the sky like some great beast or something. I'd been working here for about a year and half now. Nothing flashy or medical – no way, I wasn't quite that smart; and the doctors knew it. Nahh, I was what was referred to as a 'receptionist' back home. I worked the desk on the second floor. It wasn't difficult; it just required patience and the ability to be unjudgmental. We got all sorts coming into the hospital and it didn't look good if the staff labelled them before they'd even registered. I worked about forty hours a week or so, nearly full time, but not quite. The rate of pay wasn't bad, but that wasn't the reason I worked there. It was for the stability. It wasn't a job that I could be sacked from for lack of funds. I was there until I quit, definitely a difficult thing to find these days.

My car was in the shop today, it needed the tires doing and I wouldn't've said no to a new paint job. The red was looking a bit shabby. I didn't live too far from my place of work, but it was always easier to drive – more expensive, sure, but easier none the less. It was a ten minute drive from my apartment block to the hospital, and a good half hour walk. The walk wouldn't usually bother me, although I'd never admit it to anyone, it had just been an incredibly long and hard day. I was ready to jump into my car, drive home and have a bath. A deep bath, with bubbles and ice cream. Heaven.

I secretly hoped my housemates weren't home. Don't get me wrong, they're probably my best friends, but God, I really was not in the mood. I lived with two people. Probably my best friend in the entire world, a girl called Gabby. She was the same age as me, twenty years old, tall, average build and long blonde hair. She was from Michigan originally, but had moved to LA when she was ten years old. She remembered little of her home town and always talked about a road trip she planned to take, I'd said I'd go with her. She waned to catch up on her roots; I was interested in what her life had been like. She was a full time university student whom I'd met in my first year. She was doing a degree in physical education. Gabby was fun; and probably the reason I was still sane. The second person I lived with was called Stephen, or 'Stevie-Boy' as we called him. He was twenty-one and one hundred percent gay. He'd been bullied in middle school so had had to stay back a year to catch up on his work. I'd also met him in my first year. We'd clicked and he was easy to live with.

I had a lot to do tonight. I needed to do some work for my degree; I'm a part time student at the University of Los Angeles, in the area of Accountancy. I had a few assignments I needed to get done, but they weren't due for over a week yet, more importantly, I had some research to gather for my class in the morning. The course lasted for four years, but was the equivalent of an ordinary three year full-time degree. True, it was difficult, but it would be worth it if I could come out with a respectable grade. There was a serious lack of decent and reliable accountants in Los Angeles at the moment; I was hoping to slide in easily.

When my family had moved to LA, almost three years ago now, I'd been pretty sure that I wouldn't be staying too long. As much as the life was perfect for my personality, I wasn't keen. I missed England a lot. Although I knew that leaving LA wouldn't replace it or make it possible for me to return, I wanted to move around a bit, find somewhere more suitable. There were reasons I was still here. The subordinate reason was the education. The University of LA had the best reputation around for degrees in math and statistics. If I wanted a respected degree, no matter what level I achieved, I'd be best getting it here. The main reason, however, was much more superficial.

Jay. He was my boyfriend. We'd been together just over two and a half years now and he meant a lot to me. More than I could probably describe. We'd only been together for half a year when I'd chosen to stay here, and I'd known even then that he was probably the one. Strangely, with him being a police cadet and all, I'd met him under completely inappropriate circumstances. Upon first moving here, I'd got involved with a bad crowd, a group of about six girls – all men crazy – and they'd convinced me to come with them to a bar in the middle of town. I'd felt uncomfortable and incredibly out of place. One of the girls' brothers was the bouncer at the bar so we'd been let in without a second glance. Whilst my friends had bounded straight to the dance floor, I'd skulked off into a corner to wait for leaving time. The legal drinking age in the US is twenty-one, and I'd known what I was doing was illegal – although I'd had nothing to drink, I was still in a bar. He'd approached me happily, asking me if I came here often. That had made me laugh. His face seemed trustworthy and I'd spilt my guts, right then and there. He told me he was a training police officer, here for some practice in undercover work and I'd apologised, at which he'd chuckled, saying he wouldn't rat me out. It hadn't taken much for us to get along. Jay was twenty two; but by no means acted his age. He was an excellent listener – something all girls look for, but rarely find – and seemed genuinely affectionate towards me. Of course, I enjoyed his company much more, but I wasn't naïve enough to deny enjoying our physical relationship. He was fantastic in bed; more than I'd always wanted.

I was dragged out, feet first, from my reverie as I barged into the shoulder of a guy walking in the opposite direction. I knocked him sideward with more force than I'd expected. I hadn't realised that, in my lack of concentration, I'd been walking swiftly and without initial direction.

"Oh my God, I'm really sorry!" I said, flustered. I hoped I hadn't hurt this stranger who'd done nothing to me. "Are you ok?" I asked, feeling guiltier more with each second.

The guy raised his head, but didn't look at me. He had mid-length brown hair, flowing freely in the breeze, with matching chocolate brown eyes. His eyes didn't focus on me; he glanced around, searching. He was well built, his black, skin tight t-shirt clung to him, adorning the muscles in his arms and pulling close over his abdominals. As my glance found his face again, wondering if he had a look to match his fantastic body, something inside me clicked. I was too shocked to find him sexy anymore.

His voice sounded oddly familiar to me. "I'm fine, thanks." He replied. I'd almost forgotten what I'd asked him. "Don't worry about it. Sorry, I've got to get off." His accent was obviously English; Northern, if I was correct. I smiled wildly, _what an actor_. Still having not looked at me, he strode off in the direction he'd started off in.

I turned, watching him leave. He'd even developed a gorgeous backside along with all those muscles. "Alex." I whispered, not sure if I wanted him to hear.

He was, by no means, a Northerner. No way. Alex had been one aspect of my English life that I'd never quite forgotten. Or, at least, I had tried not to forget him. Seeing him now only made me realise that I had failed. I had forgotten certain aspects of him, not remembered him quite completely. Our last encounter had been sad. I remembered it like it were yesterday, so I didn't need the flash back. We'd met under a bridge in London. I wasn't from around there, so I, to this day, have no idea where it was. It had been that meeting that I had had to tell him that my family were leaving – moving to California. He hadn't looked as upset as I would've liked, but who was I to demand any kind of emotion from him? He'd done a lot for me, he deserved better than me.

Alex Rider. Jesus Christ.

He was one of a kind. There was no one else - to my knowledge, anyway - like him. Although he'd been the cause, or more, the catalyst; reason, for the most traumatic experience of my life. Now that… that, I would never forget. Being kidnapped on Air Force One, by a manic pop singer bent on destroying third world countries by missile, is not something you forget easily. That had been the single most terrifying time of my life… and Alex had saved me. I owed him my life, but that I couldn't give him.

Unconsciously, my feet followed him down the street.

I kept my distance, not really wanting him to know I was there. He walked quickly and I sped up to keep him in sight. I can't recall how I'd actually felt about him, it was over half a decade since I'd seen him. I'd liked him at first… at Wimbledon? Yeah, Wimbledon. Alex had been a ball boy; I'd been a ball girl. He was different to the others though. I hadn't got on well with any of the girls in my dorm, so I'd moved on to the boys. I'd liked Alex after about ten minutes. Then he'd left. I heard the rumours that he'd been kicked out for starting a fight with a member of the security team. I'd asked him about it a couple of weeks afterwards and he'd told me the impossible. _Yeah, right, Alex, I totally believe you when you tell me you're teenaged James Bond. Yeah… right!_ Just… no. I don't know how he'd expected me to buy that. I accepted it about 3 weeks later – when I was held ransom against Alex for some button-pushing thing. He came for me, though, something I'd never thanked him for.

I suddenly noticed the light disappearing in front of me. Where was he going? Come to think of it, where had he gone? I searched around me in the half light of the alley way. The walls were close; damp brick. They looked grey in my lack of vision. There was a particularly large, metal dumpster to my left, but apart from that, nothing else in the street. I felt cold. I crossed my arms across my chest, wishing my coat was thicker. I always used this coat; it was black and thin, so I was never too warm. I glanced around one last time, if I couldn't find him now, I'd have to go home.

"Why are you following me?" A monotoned voice asked me from behind. I whirled and saw him. His face lit by the half-light, he looked beautiful. My heart stopped; his right hand was reached across his stomach, touching a gun in a waist holster.

The smile whipped from my face as I fell to my knees. Why had I followed him? I should've just gone on my way. I tried to punish myself, but I knew that I'd've followed him anywhere; even now, he fascinated me. "Please, don't shoot me." I pleaded, my head hanging.

I heard him take a step forward. He wasn't a killer; otherwise he'd have shot me already. He was suspicious of me; he should have shot me by now. Maybe he remembered me… "Why are you following me?" He repeated. "Who are you?"

I felt my cheeks soak with tears. He didn't remember me. Maybe he would kill me; he'd have no reason not to. I had no reason for going after him, none at all. I had a gut inkling that I wouldn't be able to talk myself out of this one. I looked up at him, finding him stood no further than a few feet from me. He didn't bother aiming at me. We were too close for him to miss; unless he was a crap shot, which I doubted. "I'm sorry I followed you." Was all I could manage.

"Answer me!" He yelled. "You've been chasing me since you bumped me back there, why?" I smiled; he was still keeping his Northern accent. Like I couldn't see right through it.

It sent a pang of sadness through me to think that he was good at his job – assuming he was still working for the secret service. He'd hated it, back when I knew him, yet he was good at it. Life wasn't fair. "I don't know." I answered, truthfully. "When I crashed into you, I thought I recognised you. I just wanted to know if it was true."

"Were you right?" He asked, condescendingly. His arm had relaxed slightly; I guess he knew he wasn't going to have to kill me.

"I'm not sure." I held a steady glance on him. He raised his eyebrows, holding my gaze. "I'm sorry I've inconvenienced you." I felt confident, thinking I wasn't going to die.

"It's fine. But I've got to run." He turned on his heels and strode away from me.

My mouth gaped. He'd looked right at me and not… no way. More tears escaped and trickled down my face. It saddened me that he wasn't happy. He'd forgotten me; it was like I'd never existed. I sobbed, but only once. "Alex…" His name rolled off my tongue and hung in the air. I regretted it instantly. He spun back to me.

"Who are you?" He snarled, gliding back towards me. Reaching me, he pulled me to my feet by my arms and pinned me against the wall. "How do you know me?"

"Let go of me!" I screamed. "I'm not one your bloody assailants!" He let up, although stood close to me. There was no way for me to walk away from him. He had too many questions and I had to answer them.

"You do know me." He stated. "You should really watch your mouth, saying things like that could cost you your life, one day."

I shuddered, he sounded deadly serious. I suddenly felt angry. How dare he threaten me? I'd followed him to settle my curiosity; and yes, it was wrong. I should have been more careful, sure. But what's done is done. There was no need for him to scare me like that.

He was smiling, noticing my rage, I guessed. His face hadn't changed much. He still had such a boyish look. It was why I'd fallen for him in the first place; his innocent eyes. They were eyes that you'd never suspect of knowing too much. Definitely eyes that looked older than his years, but trustworthy and honest. I was taken aback for a second. Those were the eyes I'd been thinking about for years; and here they were, glancing back at me, waiting for me to speak. "Alex, it's me." I felt stupid saying just that; I smiled, carrying on. "I've not seen you in, like, five years… I was just surprised to see you. I wanted to know if it was really you."

His teeth gritted as he stared at me, thinking. I knew what thoughts would be streaming through his head. Five years would make him nineteen years old. Nineteen was a university age in England; a time when you were still immature, jumping about with your friends in your dorm and getting drunk. I didn't suspect that was what Alex would be doing nowadays. Five years ago would make him fourteen years old, I wondered if I would register in his head. It had been a complicated time for him.

His eyes widened briefly. He took a step back and gazed at me, as if I were ghost. "I thought you moved to North California." He said, his voice monotone again.

I fought back a Cheshire-cat smile. He remembered me. It was enough to give me an adrenaline rush. The walls seemed further away from me than they had been before and the air seemed clearer. I appreciated it. I didn't feel like I was about to suffocate anymore, I was floating and was grateful for it. "I did. Well, me and my family did. My mum got a job in LA about 3 years ago. We've been here ever since." I paused, wondering if I could ask. "How are you these days?"

He sighed. "Sabina," My name sounded so natural coming from his mouth. He'd dropped the accent and his voice sounded soothing. I'd forgotten how beautiful his voice was. "It's really, _really _great to see you. But I can't stop. I've got things to be doing… get yourself home. I don't want you out on the streets right now."

"What's going on?" I begged him. This was unhealthy. I grabbed the collar of his coat before he could turn away from me. "I've missed you, you can't go now." I'd waited so long to finally see him again, and he was running away.

"Sabina…"

"No! Don't you 'Sabina' me! It's been half a decade and you can't spare five minutes for me?" Hints of my old English temper were sometimes too strong for me to suppress.

"It's just… I'm sorta busy." He held my gaze; his eyes flaming in calm.

I nearly laughed, but couldn't help but smile. Ohhh, he was _good_. "Sorry…" I apologised again, averting his unsettling stare. I released his clothes and stepped back against the wall.

"It's ok." He checked his watch, at which I huffed, folding my arms. "Well, you haven't changed." He commented, smiling.

I pouted, looking him in the eye. "It would seem that neither have you. What are you doing here exactly?"

He smiled and gave a nervous laugh. "It's a long story."

"As always."

"Yeah." He paused. "I really do need to go. I would say that the fate of America depended on it, but I'm sure you're assuming worse." The grin was still prominent on his face. "Where can I find you?"

I shook my head, confused. "Erm… I work at…" I almost couldn't remember. It was quite embarrassing actually. "Sorry, I work at LA hospital." I closed my eyes, wondering if it would help.

"Great." His voice entered my head from loads of different angles. "I can see you some other time." I felt his body close in on mine only briefly and opened my eyes. My vision caught his neck craning towards the side of my face. His lips touched my cheek in a short and tender kiss. He skipped backwards, shouting to me. He really was in a hurry. "I'm glad I've seen you, Sabina. I've missed you too!"

My hand reached up instinctively to my cheek. I stroked the area he'd caressed, and watched as he reached the end of the alleyway and ran swiftly away.

I never heard from Alex again. However, in the paper a few days later, I did see an article about the Mayor of LA being arrested for plotting against the white house. It was reported that he'd been left on the doorstep of the LAPD headquarters, wrapped up in cling film and complaining that they'd be hearing from his lawyer. He would be put away for a good few decades. Alex never contacted or visited me. I waited impatiently for a few weeks, until I assumed he wasn't coming.

Alex Rider simply disappeared from my life. Just like before.


End file.
